


I Saw Her Face (now i'm a believer)

by rookmyfanwy



Series: We've Got Time [1]
Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Fluff, General Drunkenness, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-02-03 00:50:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1725128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rookmyfanwy/pseuds/rookmyfanwy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Detective Elizabeth Childs certainly wasn't expecting jail duty to be <i>this</i> interesting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Saw Her Face (now i'm a believer)

**Author's Note:**

> Shout out to [tinytmas](http://tinytmas.tumblr.com/) for letting me scream about this story to her.

“Childs!”

 

Beth jumps in her seat, stuffing her phone into her pocket. The last thing she needs is to get accused of slacking on the job. Being busted down to jail watchdog is bad enough. Besides, it's not like she _knew_ that the little shit speeding down Trenton was the Superintendent's son.

 

“Yeah, what's up?” she asks Officer Best.

 

The swarthy man smiles, jerking his head behind him, “New visitor, looks like it's going to be an overnight stay.”

 

“Good company?” she asks, trying to peek around him.

 

“Depends on what you consider 'good,'” he sighs, “Public intoxication, public disturbance, you know the drill. Pretty model citizen otherwise, just cut a little too loose.”

 

“How dare you- unhand me right now!” A shrill voice erupts suddenly.

 

“She's a feisty one,” Best remarks. He turns to look at the petite woman struggling against another officer. She's in a fairly conservative rumpled navy blue dress, her hair tousled. Attempting to stand up straight, she wobbles and falls into the officer.

 

“This is completely unnecessary! I only had a few drinks,” she slurs with a frown. She tugs on the hem of her dress in agitation.

 

Best smirks, “Officer Childs, meet Miss Ali-”

 

“Alison Hendrix,” the brunette interrupts. “See, I'm sober enough to introduce myself! Making me say the alphabet backwards is ridic... ridul-reedico...”

 

She hesitates, licking her lips in concentration.

 

“Really, Best. Really? As if this isn't bad enough,” Beth hisses as the brunette attempts to finish her thought.

 

“Silly!” Alison finishes with a decisive nod.

 

“Miss Hendrix, meet your best friend and confidant for the night, Detective Childs,” Best responds, ignoring her protest. Alison squints a little, trying to focus on Beth.

 

“Hello,” she greets, clearly unable to distinguish Beth from the gray room.

 

“Hello, Miss Hendrix,” Beth replies neutrally. She stands and walks over to the tiny woman. “I'll take it from here.”

 

“She's all yours,” the officer grunts with the characteristic grumpiness of a night shift street cop.

 

“Oh, _you're_ Detective Childs. Hello,” Alison repeats as Beth grasps her arm.

 

“Yes, hello again.” Beth glares at Best as she walks back to the cells.

 

“You look much nicer than that man over there,” Alison fails to whisper.

 

“Who, Best?” Beth glances over her shoulder at his retreating form. “Yeah, he's a real grizzly. Total asshole.”

 

“I heard that!” he calls as he walks out the door.

 

“Don't deny it!” she shouts. A middle finger appears at the door's window.

 

Alison clears her throat as they approach the first empty cell. “Am I staying there?” she asks, eyes wide.

 

“Yep. Best room we have to offer,” Beth replies, opening the door. Alison looks absolutely horrified.

 

“It's... It's so...”

 

“Quaint.” Beth supplies, eying an open condom in the corner with disgust because _seriously_ _?_

 

Alison audibly gulps, wobbling in place. If it weren't for Beth's firm grip on her elbow, she would be face down in the floor.

 

“In you go, Hendrix.”

 

“I want to go home,” she mumbles miserably as Beth maneuvers her to sit on the cot and leaves.

 

“So do I,” Beth agrees, standing with one hip cocked outside the cell. Dammit does she look sad and alone as she sits on the damn thing.

 

“Aren't you not supposed to say that?” Alison asks, leaning against the rails.

 

“Considering this is a punishment and not my actual job, I don't think it matters.” Beth reluctantly moves back to her chair, glancing at the woman as she goes.

 

“Punishment!” Alison cries in surprise. “Why are you being punished? You're the best police officer I've ever met,” she finishes dreamily.

 

Beth suppresses a chuckle at the brunette's reckless adoration, considering they've known each other for a total of seven minutes. “I caught the wrong person doing something illegal.”

 

Plopping in her seat and swiveling to face the woman, she misses Alison's disbelieving frown.

 

“Illegal is illegal. How can you catch the wrong illegal?”

 

“You're telling me,” Beth agrees with a shrug.

 

They lapse into silence. She observes the drunk woman, who blinks slowly back. Feisty seemed to be an overstatement. Alison has been curious and blunt in the way drunks can be. No yelling or fighting. All in all, this could be a lot worse.

 

“I'm going to throw up,” Alison announces suddenly.

 

 _Could be worse._ She chants mentally to drown out the sound of retching.

 

* * *

  
The next time Beth checks the clock, two hours have passed. Most of that time has been spent chatting with her cellmate (because jail duty is essentially the same as being _in_ jail), who is quite possibly the most talkative drunk she's ever had the pleasure of meeting.

 

In those two hours Beth learns about Alison's two darling adopted children- Gemma and Oscar- and her “bastard soon to be ex-husband” Donnie.

 

“ _He doesn't even care. He's busy with work and his friends_ golfing _. And he thinks I don't know about Big Boob Blowies! He's an effing butthole!” Alison ranted, throwing her hands up in frustration. “I do everything for the kids and he's busy hitting balls with his buddies.”_

 

_Beth elected to ignore the poor choice of words. “Family before friends. Always.”_

 

“ _Exactly!” Alison cried before rambling on about some soccer tournament he had missed, and how her bitch friends had harped her on it, and how her friend_ (Anna? Ashley?) _had told her what to do about Donnie, etc., etc._

 

That whole fiasco had taken an hour to explain. Somehow it morphed into a conversation on her budding acting career, and the next hour had been filled with a reenactment of Steel Magnolia's.

 

“ _I had excellent reviews,” Alison said proudly, standing unassisted for the first time in hours. She'd just finished an energetic rendition the penultimate conversation from the play._

 

_It had largely consisted of Alison talking to a wall and forgetting her lines._

 

“ _I believe it,” Beth replied with a smirk._

 

Now the energetic brunette is half-asleep, and Beth has the peculiar sense of disappointment at the loss of conversation. Checking her phone, she sees there's five hours left of her shift. She groans in disappointment.

 

A quiet, “Do you always do that?” breaks the silence.

 

Beth perks up. “Do what?”

 

“Bite your nails.”

 

She hastily removes her hand from the vicinity of her mouth, vaguely embarrassed. “Yeah, it's a bad habit of mine.” _One of a few,_ she adds mentally, picturing crowded cabinets in her bathroom.

 

“You should try to stop,” Alison murmurs with her eyes closed. “Nubby nails are unattractive.”

 

“Okay, I'll try,” Beth placates the sleepy woman.

 

“Good. You're too pretty to be unattractive,” Alison yawns, snuggling into the ratty cot. Beth has the insane urge to open up the cell and sit in there or at least give the poor woman a damn pillow for god's sake.

 

Instead she stares and stares and stares until the rising and falling of Alison's chest steadies, thinking of tiny white pills and the weight of the world.

 

* * *

 

It's exactly 6:30 AM when Beth hears the inhuman groan from cell one. A tiny smile spreads on her face. She violently swivels toward the noise.

 

“Where am I?” Alison husks. One eye is closed against the light, and she's seems to be trying to swallow the cotton mouth away. Combined with her wrecked hair and smudged makeup, the only description Beth can think of is absolutely hot mess.

 

Beth schools her expression into something less giddy schoolgirl and more stoic cop.

 

“Morning, Miss Hendrix,” she calls.

 

The brunette's head turns to her, making one eyed contact. Alison looks faintly green with the motion. “Who are you?”

 

Her right eye slowly opens. Blinking at least twelve times, she finally seems to notice her surroundings.

 

“Am I in jail!?” she screeches, the apparent dryness of her throat making it a squeak. Her eyes are open wide, back ramrod straight.

 

It's hilariously cartoonish. “Someone had a wild night,” Beth teases.

 

“Oh my God, I'm in jail!” Alison squeaks again, looking absolutely mortified.

 

“Yes. You are,” Beth confirms with a nod.

 

“That's not very helpful, thank you,” Alison cuts.

 

Beth eyebrows raise at the hostility. “I think I like you better when you're drunk.”

 

A hand flies to Alison's forehead. Beth can hear a sigh. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you. You're just doing your job, after all.”

 

Beth hums in agreement, watching Alison's mouth move in a silent mantra. It looks like it's full of curse words.

 

“Look at this as a learning experience. I certainly did, Annelle.”

 

Alison, to her credit, only takes a minute to understand her reference. “Oh my God,” she cries again.

 

She decides to take pity on the woman.

 

“Calm down, Miss Hendrix. It was an amusing way to spend the night.”

 

“For you maybe.”

 

“And for you, if your giggles account for anything,” Beth counters.

 

Alison drops her hand from her face, looking at Beth directly for the first time sober. “Detective, I am _so_ sorry.”

 

“Don't worry about it,” she replies. They lapse into silence. Alison shifts uncomfortably at the scrutiny. Hands flutter on her dress, smoothing and tugging. Then they flit to her hair, attempting to smooth it into something acceptable.

 

“Let's get you out of here,” Beth offers when even _she_ thinks her staring is excessive. She walks over and unlocks the cell, sliding the door back. Alison stands up sharply, primly walking out.

 

“I just need to fill out the time and other basic information.” Beth explains, lying through her teeth.

 

Alison nods, and follows her back to the shitty desk she's been at all night. She pulls out all the drawers, searching for a piece of paper. Finding one, she snatches a pen.

 

“Name?”

 

“Alison Hendrix.” Beth scrawls the name on the page, trying to channel her inner professional.

 

“Cell number?” she asks.

 

Alison huffs in irritation. “Is that really necessary?”

 

“Miss Hendrix, are you questioning me?” Beth retorts.

 

“Fine,” she yields, listing her number. Beth suppresses the urge to smile- an act she's finding all to familiar when it deals with this woman.

 

“That'll be all. You can go. Your personal effects will be with the officer outside and to the left,” Beth finishes, writing some bullshit codes under Alison's number to throw off suspicion.

 

Alison simply stands there for a few seconds. “Is there something else you need?”

 

“No, no,” she replies, voice high and tight.

 

As she turns around to go, Beth says, “Stay safe, Miss Hendrix. I hope to never see you here again.”

 

Alison turns, offers a tight smile, and is out the door- Beth watching her ass the whole time.

 

 _Damn hot mess,_ she affirms.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It takes her four days and a grisly double homicide to call the swiped number.

 

The call rings and rings, filling Beth with the horrible feeling of dread. She _thought_ she was being sneaky, but what if Alison knew? What is she is going to report her for abuse of power? What if-

 

“Hello?”

 

Beth finds herself grinning at the harried greeting. “Good morning. Is this Miss Hendrix?”

 

“This is she.”

 

“Miss Hendrix, my name is Detective Childs.” She hears a muffled gasp at the introduction.

 

“How can I help you, Detective?” Alison croaks.

 

“Just calling to check up.”

 

“I assure you, I haven't had a drop of alcohol since Saturday!” she assures, sounding panicked.

 

“Also to ask you to go to lunch with me.”

 

“...I'm sorry?”

 

“Lunch. To check up,” Beth repeats.

 

“What?” Alison sounds perplexed.

 

“There's this great cafe I have in mind. Best lattes on the east end of the city.”

 

“Are you sure this is appropriate?”

 

“If you want it to be.”

 

Beth holds her breath as Alison falls silent.

 

“Okay,” the other woman agrees.

 

“Excellent. I'll pick you up at eleven.”

 

“How do you know where I live?”

 

“I'm a cop, Alison.”

 

“Right.”

 

 


End file.
